Holding Back the Night
by LadyDeb1970
Summary: Prequel to 'I'll Sit Forever With the Gods.' Chicago is in ruins after the Decepticon blockade and attack. Malcolm Merlyn arrives in the devastated city ... and gets far more than he bargained for when he meets one of the survivors.
1. Chapter 1: On the Edge

Author's Notes: I had some musings about eventually writing the story of how Malcolm first met Angie in the wake of the Decepticon attack against Chicago after finishing _'I'll Sit Forever with the Gods_,' but nothing solid. Sort of a 'maybe someday.' But Thursday was my supervisor's last day in our office, and to say good-bye, we had lunch at a local Ruby Tuesday's. On the way, I popped in my Survivor CD, which starts off with _'I Can't Hold Back_.' And all of a sudden, I had a boatload of images in my head. Funny how that works sometimes. Unlike its predecessors, this story will be multiple chapters. Also unlike its predecessors, this story won't be as _Transformers_-heavy. Oh, the characters (especially NEST) will be here, but you really don't need to know the movie … any of the Transformers movies. Please note: no one from Team Arrow will be here. Tommy will be mentioned, but that's about it (unless he decides to throw me a curveball, and that's not outside the realm of possibility).

Disclaimer: Malcolm Merlyn isn't mine. Neither are the Autobots, Decepticons, members of NEST or their families. Angie and her family, friends, co-workers are. Don't mind if you borrow them, just ask first and return them intact. The title also doesn't belong to me … it comes from '_I Can't Hold Back_' by Survivor, from their 1984 album _Vital Signs, _as does the title of this first chapter.

Chapter One

On the Edge

Chicago, Illinois

A week after the end of the Decepticon blockade

On a scale of one to ten, this rated at least a thirty on the _'dumbest thing I've ever done'_ scale. Ordinarily, that wouldn't worry her … after all, she was normally sensible. In fact, she was the dutiful daughter growing up, leaving the wild child schemes to her older sister Lorelei. However, at the moment, she was the one surrounded by thugs after dark in Decepticon-ravaged Chicago. Definitely not one of her smarter moves. But at the time, there was no one else available to make this supply run, and she wasn't about to interrupt the desperately needed sleep of the soldiers who helped to free Chicago. Where she made her worst mistake, however, was assuming that a route that was always safe in the past was safe now.

And that was why she was currently in this mess. So. Sitrep, borrowing a phrase she heard from her new friends in NEST: she was roughly half a mile from the NEST encampment with the needed supplies in her handy-dandy backpack, surrounded by men (at least, she was assuming that they were male … then again, assuming got her into this mess in the first place) who seriously didn't have her best interests at heart. _Oh Angie_, she thought, _just how in the hell did you manage to do this to yourself_? It never occurred to her to try to talk her would-be assailants out of whatever they wanted to do.

Besides, there was no time to talk. One moment, they were drawing in an ever-tighter circle around her … and then next? Well, the next, they were dropping like flies. Literally. They were sprouting black arrows in their chests and eyes, and literally dropping to the ground in a nice little circle around her. Angie Curtis looked from the bodies to … well. That was something you didn't see every day. A figure attired entirely in black stood a few yards away on a mound of debris. She stared … and stared. And stared some more, because even with the insane turns her life took recent … even with the Autobots and the Decepticons and the near-destruction of everything that she loved, this completely blew her mind.

"Are you all right? You shouldn't be here … this isn't a safe place for you," the figure observed. Angie heard a bark of laughter, and was stunned to realize that it came from her. Well. That wasn't good. In the part of her mind that was behaving normally, she was aware that laughter was not an appropriate reaction to these circumstances. But what was appropriate? Angie wasn't even sure if that word applied to life any more. The figure came closer, and Angie instinctively backed up. The figure stopped, lowering the bow, and said, "I mean you no harm. You're from the soldiers' camp?"

She nodded a bit numbly, and her unexpected rescuer said, "I will accompany you back to that camp. You carry riches." The bow dipped, indicating the backpack she carried … the food she looted from the abandoned stores. Looted. She wondered a bit numbly when she became a criminal. On the other hand, the food would have wasted and there was no one she could have paid, so was she still a criminal? She would have to ask Colonel Lennox … Will … when she got back to the camp. A gentle hand slid under her elbow and Angie looked up, staring up at this dark archer who saved her life, who now repeated, "You need an escort … it isn't safe."

"It's not safe anywhere any more. This area? It used to be a nice part of town. Not like home, but there's no place in the world that's like Texas. But this place, it was nice on its own merits. And now, it's just trash, because a group of alien bullies decided that they were better than us because they were bigger than us. Hey, I won't say that humanity's perfect. Far from it. We do pretty shitty stuff to each other and to …" Angie rambled, and broke off. She covered her mouth with her hand, not sure if she would start crying or start vomiting, and right now, neither was a particularly attractive option for her. The hand under her elbow tightened, and she whispered, "Dammit, I'm making Sentinel Prime's case for him."

"You are not. The world is burning around you, yet you're trying to help other people. But right now, _you_ need help. Come," the black-clad archer beckoned and Angie stumbled along beside him. He said nothing as they walked, but Angie didn't really care. The events of the night were starting to hit home for her, and she began trembling. The hand under her elbow gave way to a hand at the small of her back, both reassuring her and pushing her forward. Angie focused on that, and on putting one in front of the other. One foot, the other foot … one foot, the other foot. Soon, she was so focused on that, she didn't even realize she was walking alone. Not until Sarah Lennox was throwing her arms around her and Bobby Epps was relieving her of the food she'd retrieved did Angie realize that she was safe. And it was then that her legs gave way, sheltered protective in Sarah's fierce embrace. Neither she, nor her NEST friends, noticed the figure in black watching over them all. Nor did they see him turn and disappear into the night. If she did notice, and her brain was functioning the way it normally did, she would have asked the boys in NEST exactly who that masked man was.

TWTWTWTWTWTW

Will Lennox was not a very happy colonel. He was enraged when his government kicked the Autobots off the planet … heart-sick when he watched Optimus and the others, his friends, get blown out of the sky … and then nearly dizzy with relief when he learned the Autobots were very much alive. He was still grieving the loss of Ironhide … he didn't want to grieve for Angie Curtis as well. The petite Texan had been a big help to him and NEST since they took back Chicago. As Angie told him when she drove him to the airport to pick up Sarah and Annabelle, there were a lot of things she couldn't do. Her job no longer existed, because the company was gone. But she could take care of NEST … do little things that made their lives just a bit easier.

The supplies could have waited until tomorrow. They had enough food and there was no need for Angie to leave the camp tonight. But, of course, it wasn't night when she left. It was a misjudgment … she thought she'd have time to get back before nightfall, because it was normally no more than a fifteen minute walk, twenty tops. But that was when there weren't obstacles to climb over or go around. It was just a misjudgment, but one that could have gotten her killed. _Right_, he thought sourly, _and your judgment was so great when you came up with the plan to hide the Cube from the Decepticons in Mission City_?

The food was being put away (with Annabelle's 'help'), and Sarah continued to hover protectively over Angie. The brunette offered him a weak smile, saying, "So, how much trouble am I in, Colonel?" Will leaned against the wall opposite his new friend, giving her a quick once-over. She was slowly regaining her color, but still looked rattled. At least now, she didn't look like she would puke up everything she'd eaten in the last few days. Will sighed, folding his arms over his chest as he regarded her.

"Gotta be honest with you, Angie … if you were in NEST, I'd have your ass on KP duty for a week, at the very least. But … you aren't in NEST, and technically, you're not even a civilian contractor. And, you didn't disobey any instructions," he observed, noting that she looked in no way relieved. Will continued, choosing to put her out of her misery, "Don't do that again, Angie. You scared the hell out of us, and you put yourself in danger. We're trained for this, okay?" She nodded a bit numbly, and Sarah once more put her arm around her. This time, however, Angie leaned into her, allowing her head to rest on her shoulder.

"C'mon. Bed, now. And if I have to, I'll get Annabelle to help tuck you in," Sarah urged, helping Angie to her feet. Will couldn't help smiling at his wife's statements … knowing his four year old, it wouldn't take a lot of convincing. Like many children her age, Annabelle loved 'helping,' and if it meant helping to take care of a grown-up, that was even better. Angie, however, just offered a weary smile and made no argument. The two women made their way from what was serving as Will's office, and the colonel sank into his chair, resting his head in his hands. He hadn't been joking … when he noticed the time and realized that Angie was out there, it scared the hell out of him. Not just because she was his friend, but because she was a civilian under his protection and he couldn't exactly send the 'Bots out in search of her. Will had a really bad feeling about how things would go from here on out. He hoped he was wrong, but judging from the way people reacted to the 'Bots so far, he didn't think he was.

He scrubbed his hands over his face and returned his attention to the most recent report he'd received from one of the other Pedway shelters. With the fall of Chicago, there were so many dead and even more displaced. NEST set up shelters in the Pedway … not just for the protection from the elements, but because the tunnels of the Pedway offered more stability than the ravaged buildings above them. This city had a helluva lot of healing today, and there was only so much he and NEST could do. The 'Bots … the people of Chicago weren't inclined to trust them, even after the 'Bots returned to push back the 'Cons. To them, one metal menace was no different from any other. And Will had no idea how to change their minds.

Not for the first time, he acknowledged that it was possible he couldn't change their minds. What that meant for the 'Bots on Earth in the coming weeks, and the future of NEST, Will really couldn't say. In the meantime, he had work to do … more to the point, work that involved a potential ally. And he really needed to get some sleep, if he wanted to be at the top of his game in the morning. Schmoozing was one of Will's least favorite parts of the job, but it had to be done. Especially now, especially with the 'Bots and NEST on shaky ground.

The following day, he and Bobby Epps would be meeting with a billionaire who was in Chicago to see what he could do for the refugees. It remained to be seen if this Malcolm Merlyn genuinely wanted to help, or if he was just trying to make himself look good. It could go either way, as Will knew, and it wasn't his policy to look a gift billionaire in the mouth, much less one who could help. According to his research, the man lost his wife nearly twenty years earlier. Rebecca Merlyn ran a clinic in a bad part of Starling City called the Glades … where she also died. Will read the reports of her death, and even now, he couldn't imagine how Merlyn was still sane. Then again, maybe he wasn't sane. Will encountered people who were really, really good at convincing people that they were perfectly fine, perfectly sane, perfectly normal … but were anything but. It wasn't always easy to tell.

And if Merlyn wasn't entirely sane … could Will say he would still be sane if he lost Sarah in the same way? Considering the loss of Ironhide was still so damn fresh, Will chose not to pursue that thought. Instead, he returned his attention to his paperwork. At least, he tried to. But the image of a pale, trembling Angie Curtis stumbling toward them kept pushing itself to the forefront of his mind … along with the story of who rescued her. A man, clad entirely in black, wielding a bow and arrow. He'd killed all of her attackers, and then escorted her back to the closest entrance to the Pedway, right around the time Bobby, Will and Sarah headed to the surface with a search party for their errant friend.

She was fairly certain that it was a man who rescued her, although the voice was hard to distinguish. While she encountered quite a few tall women (Angie herself wasn't much over five feet tall), most tall women weren't that broad-shouldered. Will was of two minds about this mysterious dark archer. On the one hand, this guy, whoever he was, saved an innocent woman who didn't use her best judgment but didn't deserve to die for it (and he was still working out the best way to explain to Angie how she wasn't really stealing, even though technically she was). On the other hand … on the other hand, vigilantes made Will a bit uncomfortable, and he hoped that this dark archer didn't cause trouble for NEST or their Autobot allies.

TWTWTWTWTWTW

He slowly stripped off his leathers, muscles aching from the exertion of the night, and the control required to simply kill those marauders threatening a young woman who was trying to help other people, rather than do something worse. A young woman who was somewhat older than Rebecca was when she died, but who would have met a similar fate if those bastards had their way. In a distant part of his mind, Malcolm Merlyn recognized that the men he killed tonight might have been different at one time, might have homes and families. But really? He didn't care. They chose to kill, to prey upon others, while the woman he protected chose to help. The '_they can't help it_' excuse wouldn't work with him. Not now, not ever.

He'd come to Chicago when he saw the destruction on the news … he had to come. The Decepticons did a rather thorough job of trashing the city, and he needed to see it for himself, needed to see what kind of work would be necessary to restore the Glades after the Undertaking. Besides, he truly wanted to see what he could do help Chicago and her people. What he didn't expect was what he found. He went out in his leathers tonight to patrol, since the Autobots and the soldiers who helped them drive out the Decepticons couldn't be everywhere. What he found out on the patrol shook him to the core.

It was the intention of the Undertaking to wipe the slate clean and start over. That was part of it, along with punishing those who murdered Rebecca, who left her to die (he couldn't forgive them, he couldn't forgive himself and he couldn't be angry with Rebecca). He wanted payback, he wanted them to hurt the way he hurt. He wanted the Glades to be what it was when he was a child. And the Undertaking … the Undertaking was supposed to lead to that. But … what he was seeing in Chicago in the wake of the Decepticon attack was starting to unravel his certainty that the Undertaking would make things better.

It wasn't really the same. Not really. But at the same time, it was. The source was different, but the result was the same. He was seeing potential consequences for his plans, consequences that negated what he was trying to do. But so much was already invested in the Undertaking, and what did he do in its place? Malcolm rubbed at his eyes, trying to focus on what his next step should be. There was a possibility that he was looking at this wrong, after all. As he previously observed, the Decepticons were different from the Markov device. But the results were what mattered, and the results were the same.

He should have anticipated this. He should have realized that unleashing the Markov device against the Glades would result in anarchy. That was what he saw out there tonight … pure anarchy. But he also saw people helping each other. The girl with the backpack full of supplies for the refugees who took shelter in the Pedway … the girl who reminded him of Rebecca. She had none of Rebecca's grand plans and dreams, but she did have that same will to help others, even when they didn't deserve it.

Malcolm wasn't able to save his wife (hadn't tried to save her). But that girl tonight, he'd saved her. Would it make a difference? She might die another night (especially if she went out alone after dark). He thought again of Rebecca, and her living another night … another night for him to hold her, another night for her to kiss Tommy good night … yes. Even if that girl died another night, she at least had another day and night with the people who loved her most. It made a difference to someone.

His mind drifted back to the girl herself. She wasn't really a girl … had to be at least in her mid-thirties, but she was younger than he was, in years and in spirit. Life hadn't beaten all of the innocence out of her. No. No, that was the wrong thing to say. Innocence wasn't the word he was looking for. She wasn't truly innocent … her expression when he came upon them was frightened, but not surprised. No, life hadn't beaten the kindness out of her, the desire to help others. She didn't expect anything out of others … certainly didn't expect others to reciprocate. She actually seemed more surprised by his actions than by the subhumans menacing her. In truth, Malcolm himself was a bit surprised … when he escorted the girl back to the army camp.

He still wasn't sure why he did that. In the time it took him to return her to viewing distance of the soldiers, he could have been patrolling. But it was the right thing to do, he knew that. Even so, that didn't explain why she got under his skin the way she did … why he couldn't stop thinking about her. Maybe because on the way back to the soldiers' camp, she rambled, talking about the things she saw since the Decepticons attacked Chicago, the things she'd done. She kept her head, he realized as he listened to her stumble and fumble through her words, her breath halting as her feet stumbled over debris that was still being cleaned up. She'd kept her head and got herself and her co-workers to a place of relative safety.

Relative being the key word. Malcolm knew that certain parts of the Pedway collapsed, thanks to the blockade and the battle that followed. He hadn't yet met any of the Autobots, but he hoped to. If only to find out why … why they returned for an ungrateful humanity. It was something Malcolm discovered that he really wanted to know, even as his certainty that the Undertaking was the right thing to do began to diminish. Why did the Autobots return for a people that rejected them? Bowing to Sentinel Prime's demands was one of the stupidest things humanity ever did … and there was a laundry list of stupid things humanity as a whole did.

Malcolm shook his head. He was allowing himself to become distracted, something he couldn't afford, even in the 'safety' of his hotel room. His muscles ached, and he realized a shower was in order … followed by sleep. He had a meeting with NEST in the morning, the human allies to the Autobots, comprised of military personnel from several countries, particularly the US and the UK. His research told him that the current military commander for NEST was one Lieutenant Colonel William Lennox, who first came to the attention of his superiors and the Autobots during the battle of Mission City, four years earlier. Malcolm was intrigued by the young soldier, and when he felt sure that he had a full picture of the man he'd be interacting with, switched his attention to Lennox's unofficial second in command, retired Air Force Sergeant Bobby Epps. Both men were fathers … Lennox had a four year old daughter, while Epps had five children. Four daughters and one son, according to Malcolm's most recent information.

Reading about the children sired by the men that he would be meeting in the morning drew his thoughts to his son Tommy. Malcolm removed a billfold from the inside of his jacket, which carried no money … only a picture. A single picture of Rebecca and Tommy, taken only days before her death, both laughing as Rebecca held their son and Tommy's arms reached up for the photographer (Malcolm). Tommy was in his twenties now, and things were far different between the father and son. That was his fault, and he knew it. The question … or questions … were what should he do about it, and should he do anything about it, or was Tommy safer by hating him? The man whom people were already calling the Dark Archer brushed his thumb lightly over first his son's face, and then his wife's face, before carefully folding the picture back up and placing it back inside the billfold.

Shower, and then bed. He had a long day ahead of him, and while he was more than capable of going days without sleep, he preferred to take advantage of the opportunities he had to get a good night sleep. A quick check of the windows and doors assured him that the room was as secure as he could make it, and if someone tried to come through the window, he had a simple alert system set up. The hot water soothed his aching muscles, but it didn't settle his mind or ease his heart. What he saw today shook him … but after everything he'd done in the last few years, was canceling the Undertaking the right thing to do? And if it was, he needed time to think and to come up with another plan, in place of the Undertaking.

Fifteen minutes later, after toweling himself dry and performing some calisthenics, Malcolm slid between the sheets, holding the billfold containing the picture of Tommy and Rebecca against his chest. But as he drifted to sleep, it was a pair of hazel eyes reflecting fear and resignation that continued to haunt him.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2: Connecting

Author's Notes: Most important thing first. The building in a bag that Malcolm references in the second section? That's a real thing. I found out about them while I was doing research about underground cities (don't ask about the correlation, I don't remember what led me to that site). Google 'concrete canvas.' Also, I went to see '_Into the Storm_' on Saturday afternoon, and the relationship the hero of the movie (Gary) had with his two sons in the beginning influenced the conversation between Malcolm and Tommy. Also, I'm not entirely comfortable with the way I wrote Tommy … for some reason, Malcolm seems to be easier for me to write than Tommy.

Chapter Two

Connections

Chicago, Illinois

The Following Day

NEST Outpost-Pedway

Anyone who was listening could hear an animated conversation occurring between two women as they traversed the corridors under Chicago, a small girl between them, holding both of their hands as they bantered. The already-animated debate culminated as the slightly-taller woman ranted at her companion, "You do realize that you're speaking heresy? I mean … that's absolutely taste heresy. No, no, it's beyond heresy, that borders on blasphemy!"

"You do realize that my give-a-crud is broken beyond all repair at this point?"

Josie huffed and glared at Angie over Annabelle Lennox's head. Josie was among the few co-workers who remained in Chicago after the Decepticon attack. Angie still wasn't sure what her friend was staying for … immediately after the blockade was broken, the other woman expressed a desire to get the hell out of Chicago and return to her native state of Missouri. And yet, she was still here … helping NEST and looking after people whose homes were destroyed by the Decepticons (Angie knew that Autobots took out some of those houses as well, but the Decepticons started it … and yes, she knew she was being childish. She just didn't care).

"You're both being silly," Annabelle announced, clinging to the hands of both women. Angie was dubious (at best) when Will told her that he was flying his wife and daughter here … from a public relations standpoint, she could see where he was coming from. Not that Will was looking at things from a public relations standpoint. Even so, Angie realized what a powerful statement the colonel was making … he trusted the Autobots with the two most precious people in the world to him. He wanted his wife and daughter nearby, wanted the solace of their company and their love as they all mourned the loss of a dear friend. Angie never met Ironhide … he died before the final assault, murdered by Sentinel Prime, but from what she heard, it sounded like he would have either scared her to death or been a mother hen. According to Bobby (Sergeant Epps), the two weren't mutually exclusive. Well, he would know.

"Yes, we are … so let that be a lesson to you, little miss!" Josie retorted, reaching down with her free hand to poke Annabelle's side. The little girl squeaked and giggled, shifting closer to Angie. Of course, what she didn't realize was that gave Josie even more room to tickle her. Much later, Angie would look back on the sequence of events that followed and shake her head in amazement. If Josie hadn't tickled the little girl, if Annabelle hadn't seen her father seemingly alone in a room, if … if Will hadn't been in a meeting with an extremely wealthy potential ally. Ifs could drive a person totally around the bend.

But all of those things did happen, with Annabelle happily screeching, "Daddy!" as she tore free of Angie's restraining hand and raced into the room. Will, of course, was turning even as his daughter crossed the threshold of the door and scooped her into his arms. He raised his brows at the two women who were walking his daughter back to her mother (after she was satisfied that Optimus really was all right) and Angie blushed. She started to tell him that they had a small breach, but it was then that she saw the man who Will was meeting with: someone who was quite possibly the most handsome man she'd ever seen. He was around six feet tall and broad-shouldered. It was her considered opinion that his dark hair was combed a little too neatly, but that didn't detract from his good looks at all … and he had blue eyes. Oh, Lord help her. She was an absolute sucker for men with dark hair and blue eyes … had been ever since she first met DJ Hendricks back in seventh grade.

Those blue eyes were now focused on her with unnerving intensity. She wasn't used to having men look at her like that … she was even more unused to having a handsome man look at her like that. Will cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to him and the little girl he even now held on one hip. Angie blinked as if she'd been staring into the sun too long, and Will said with a half-smile, "Do I even want to know what the two of you were arguing about? Mr. Merlyn and I could hear you as you came down the hall … especially you, Josie."

That, Angie didn't doubt at all, and felt her cheeks burning. She had to admit, though, she was more than a little impressed with her friend's self-control, as she explained in her most sedate voice, "Sorry about that, Colonel Lennox, but you'll understand. Or maybe you won't … maybe it's a woman thing." Angie rolled her eyes, and noticed the colonel's companion was smirking … a little smirk, but it was there. Josie went on, "Angie was explaining that she didn't like Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream, and I …" Uhm, wait, what? That wasn't what Angie said at all, and Josie knew that. Her friend stopped, looking from Angie to Will to the newcomer, before saying a bit sheepishly, "Not gonna buy that, are you?"

"Considering that's a conversation Angie and Sarah have had on more than one occasion? No. Angie may not see … or rather, taste … the hype around Ben and Jerry's, but she also doesn't dislike the brand. Hyperbole much, there, Josephine?" Will inquired, the corners of his lips twitching with barely concealed amusement. Angie muttered, '_oh, burn_' under her breath, because Josie hated her real name. Why, she didn't know, but the quickest way to irritate her friend was to call her 'Josephine.' Will continued, "Ladies, this is Malcolm Merlyn, who has offered to assist the refugees with housing. Mr. Merlyn, this is Angeline Curtis and Josephine Tucker, two of the civilians who have been incredibly helpful since the end of the blockade."

Josie, true to form, was the first to react, offering her hand to the dark-haired man. He accepted it with a reserved smile, and Josie said, "Thank you. We all appreciate the safety of the Pedway, but I think we'll all appreciate not being stepped on even more." That made his small smile widen further, and then his intense blue gaze switched to Angie as Josie stepped back. She found her (much) smaller hand engulfed in a firm, but not overpowering, grip. Angie appreciated that. She hated limp handshakes nearly as much as she did crushing ones.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both … and you, Miss Annabelle. Colonel, I'll be in touch concerning the supplies I mentioned … I should have that organized by the end of the day tomorrow," the man answered. And much to her amusement, when Annabelle offered her tiny hand from the vantage point of her father's arms, just as Angie and Josie did, he pressed a light kiss to the back of her hand, making Annabelle giggle (and Angie melt, just a little bit). He nodded to the three adults, before joining Bobby Epps, who waited at the door. Hmm. Evidently, Bobby was on escort duty today. She wondered if he was planning to bring Monique and their five kids to Chicago, as Will brought Sarah and Annabelle.

There was a brief silence as the footsteps of the two men echoed away, and then Josie turned to face Angie with a devious expression. Oh God. She _knew _that expression. Nothing good _ever _happened (to her) when Josie wore that expression. Angie's experience held true a moment later when Josie crowed, clapping her hands with obvious delight, "He was checking you out … oh, he was so _totally_ checking you out, Angie! Will, tell this girl that Malcolm Merlyn was checking her out!" Angie rolled her eyes, and turned a pleading expression to the Colonel.

He, however, was staring at her with a thoughtful expression, and Angie said with more than a touch of exasperation, "He was doing no such thing! Men who look like Malcolm Merlyn don't even pay attention to women like me. Please … your overactive imagination is running away with you again!" Of course, that was akin to waving a red flag in front of a bull. But really, what did Josie expect to happen when she made such a ridiculous assertion? Angie told the quiet voice in the back of her mind, the one that was reminding her of the way Malcolm Merlyn looked at her so intently, as if he'd seen her before, to please shut up before she drop-kicked it. And Will was still eyeing her thoughtfully.

"I don't know if he was checking you out, Ang … but you certainly had his attention. So. You're going to be my new liaison on this," Will commented. Angie's mouth fell open. She … what? Wait, what? But she didn't do liaising! She had no idea how to liaise (was that even a word? Well, it was now). Will put his daughter on the ground and took a quick step forward, placing both hands on Angie's shoulders. He said, his dark eyes boring into hers, "You won't be doing it alone, I promise. If I'm not there, Bobby will be."

"But … but … but … I don't know what I should be doing. How exactly do I liaise, anyhow?" Angie retorted, flapping her hands helplessly. Josie snickered and Angie turned her best Death Glare on her friend. Josie actually swallowed and took a half step back, raising her hands defensively. Angie returned her attention to Will, repeating somewhat plaintively, "I have no idea how to liaise … I'm an office worker turned refugee worker, Colonel." As well as a refugee herself, and just why was he smiling at her like that?

"Angie, what do you think you do when I ask you to check with the cooks about supplies?" he asked patiently. The question almost literally stopped Angie in her tracks and she stared at him in shock. She was vaguely aware that her mouth was hanging open in a rather unattractive manner, but her brain was still struggling to reboot. Will continued, "What you do down here? You do a lot of liaison work, you just never called it by that before now. And like I said, you won't be alone. You're familiar to Merlyn somehow, so he'll be more comfortable with you. It'll be fine. Trust me." Trust me … famous last words. And she _did _trust Will.

She just hoped she wouldn't end up regretting that.

TFTFTFTFTFTF

Angeline Curtis. Her name was Angeline Curtis. It was so much easier to keep his pledge to forget the tiny, brave, foolish woman who snuck under his protective layers when he didn't know her name. This morning, he awoke with renewed determination to see the Undertaking done … perhaps in a new form, but the swamp had to be drained. His picture of Rebecca and Tommy was still clutched to his chest when he awoke, and that was a reminder of what he needed to do. For Rebecca's sake … for the sake of little boys whose mothers would come home to them at night … he would find another way to carry out the Undertaking. However, the Markov Device would not be used. Malcolm wasn't pleased about throwing away that much money, but it was steadily becoming apparent that using the device would only make things worse … much worse.

He also needed to keep the Markov Device, and its plans, far away from anyone who might find it and use it themselves. Possibly even destroy it, if he could find a way to destroy it completely, with no hope of recreation. But the Undertaking would go forward, in one form or another. He spent most of the morning leading up to his meeting with Colonel Will Lennox focusing on the best way forward. And his meeting with the Colonel was quite enlightening. The younger man acknowledged that there were fights and arguments and disputes, especially among people who never left the shelter of the Pedway, but for the most part, the refugees helped each other and NEST out. One enterprising refugee even organized the teenagers living in the Pedway and washed the Autobots. Malcolm had to smile at that, as well as Lennox's promise to show him the pictures at a later date.

And then Colonel Lennox's young daughter raced into the room, followed closely by two women. Malcolm actually felt his heart stop when his eyes fell upon the second woman. It was her. The woman from the night before, the woman who was taking food back to the Pedway shelter … the woman who he escorted back, instead of continuing on patrol. And now, she had a name. Angeline Curtis. Malcolm tried not to focus on her … Lennox clearly was not a fool, and he would certainly notice if Malcolm kept looking at someone working for him … but he couldn't be sure how successful he was. Nothing was said as Sergeant Epps escorted him back to the entrance, but that didn't tell him anything. And he had to put Angeline Curtis out of his mind. She had the potential to become a distraction, and he couldn't afford that.

On his way back to his hotel, Malcolm alternated between looking out the window at the wasteland that was once Chicago and down at his tablet as he considered what he learned from the meeting. His research told him a great deal about the human commander of NEST (to be distinguished from the nuclear response team) in terms of facts, but the meeting told him about the man himself … about the way he thought, about the way he interacted with others, about what was important to him. Right now, that was the people of Chicago and the Autobots.

Early in the meeting, Lennox acknowledged that the number one need they had was shelter. Malcolm learned from the concierge at his own hotel when he arrived that many of the hotels in the city, the ones not damaged by the blockade and subsequent attack, were sheltering people who lost their home in the attack. He couldn't/wouldn't say how the refugees were paying for their stay, if they were at all, and Malcolm resolved that he would contact the owners, see if there was something he could do to help there.

He actually had an idea about the people staying in the Pedway. While most of his energy during the last twenty years focused on the Undertaking, in all of its forms, he also did research into what would be needed after this particular man-made disaster. Of course, the biggest necessity would be shelter after the Undertaking, and he had concerns about the Glades becoming a tent city. He found what he was looking for in what some called a building in a bag. And really, that was exactly what it was.

Created by a pair of young inventors/engineers in the UK more than five years earlier, it could be set up in less than two hours by people who had no training, and ready for use within twenty-four hours. Malcolm considered it ideal, especially with its multitude of uses. One such shelter could be used as a NEST command center, while others were used as housing. That, he decided, would be his first priority, once he spoke the hotels about any assistance they might need. With shelter worked out, Malcolm next turned his attention to the issue of sustenance. In other words, arranging for the food to be brought to the Pedway, rather than have any soldiers or civilians go to local abandoned stores for retrievals.

According to the colonel, the problem wasn't exactly a lack of resources. As soon as the blockade ended, food and supplies began to flow in from other states. The trouble was getting those supplies to the Pedway. Malcolm smiled grimly, understanding what went unsaid. The soldiers protecting the refugees at the Pedway were experiencing the same problem he encountered during his first attempt to clean up the Glades … corruption. Well. He could take care of both the corruption issue _and _the transportation, and enjoy doing it.

He moved to the next item … sanitation. Again, it was a matter of transportation and corruption. Malcolm honestly marveled at the job Lennox was doing with the resources he had. And like the colonel, Malcolm sensed bad things were ahead for NEST and for the Autobots. Malcolm wasn't sure what he could do for the Autobots (he was still reeling from the encounter he had with the new Autobot second in command … was it Sidewinder? No … no, it was Sideswipe), but there was plenty he could do for NEST. He would have Legal look into that … maybe not a job offer, as he knew men like Will Lennox and Robert Epps would object to the Undertaking (in its current form), but something.

For now, he would return to his hotel room, and start working on his end. A glance at his cell phone informed him that his son called him while he was in his meetings at NEST command. Malcolm frowned thoughtfully. That was very unlike Tommy. He called up his calendar on his tablet, and glanced over the next week to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything important. No … it wasn't the anniversary of Rebecca's death, wasn't Tommy's own birthday, and Rebecca's birthday wasn't until the following week. With a small frown, Malcolm dialed his son's number and when the young man answered, sounding sleepy, he said, "Tommy, I noticed that you called … is everything all right?"

There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and then Tommy responded slowly, "Everything's fine, Dad. Your secretary told me that you were in Chicago, and I was … hell." His son suddenly sounded defeated, and Malcolm frowned, wondering if he'd forgotten to tell Tommy before he left. No … no, he was certain that he mentioned it. Tommy went on after a moment, "I … I just … next week is Mom's birthday, and I guess …" Malcolm was no mind-reader, but he could guess where this was going. He glanced out the window, at the devastation wrought that was far worse than anything he could dream up.

After a moment, he said, "I'm in Chicago to see if I can help with anything. I've spoken with the military commander here, met with him today to see what they need." Tommy scoffed at that, and Malcolm struggled to hold onto his patience. He reminded himself that he hadn't given Tommy reason to have faith in him and continued resolutely, "My plan is to be back in Starling City by the end of the week. I hadn't forgotten your mother's birthday." Everything about Rebecca was engraved on Malcolm's mind and heart … her scent, her smile, what she loved, what enraged her. Tommy was silent for several moments, and Malcolm said slowly, "I'm going to put her favorite flowers on her grave … daisies with sprigs of baby's breath and honeysuckle." There was a disbelieving laugh and Malcolm braced himself for his son's rejection.

But Tommy's voice held a note of cautious hope as he asked, "You … you want to put flowers on Mom's grave. On her birthday. Dad … you've never …" His voice trailed off, and Malcolm didn't speak. It really didn't matter what he said, because nothing he said was right. Rebecca was the one who was always free with her affections. It was never that Malcolm didn't love Tommy. But even before Rebecca died, even before his own spiral out of control, he was never as demonstrative as she was. And unfortunately, his son was right. Even though he loved Rebecca, even though she and Tommy were the most important people in his life, he never put flowers on Rebecca's grave in the years since she died (since she was murdered, literally giving her life's blood to the Glades). He certainly couldn't blame his son for not believing him now. Tommy asked softly, "Dad … what did you see in Chicago?"

Malcolm almost laughed at the question, even as serious as it was. What did he see in Chicago? Everything. Nothing. A woman who looked nothing like his late wife, but who reminded him of Rebecca nonetheless. In the end, Malcolm said softly, "It isn't important, Tommy. I just wanted to make sure that you're all right." It was unlike his son to call him … even more unlike him to question any of Malcolm's secretaries about his whereabouts, regardless of the circumstances and/or the reasons. He was a lousy father, he knew that, but this was unusual behavior for his son. Malcolm added, "I'll see you at the end of the week." He didn't say, 'I love you.' He hadn't said those words since Rebecca died, and he wasn't sure if he could ever say them again. He wasn't even sure if he was still capable of love. What he did know was that Tommy was all he had left of Rebecca … and he couldn't fail her again.

TWTWTWTWTWTWTW

Tommy Merlyn slowly placed his cell phone back on the nightstand, staring at it as if he'd never seen it before. He should have been … what was wrong with him? He actually believed that his father had every intention of returning, just to … none of this made sense! Tommy groaned and dropped his head into his hands, inadvertently waking his bed partner. Laurel Lance said in a sleep-thick voice, "Tommy? What's wrong?"

The question sounded too much like his father's inquiry when he called Tommy back, and the Merlyn scion looked at his on-again off-again girlfriend, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the words. A small hand came to rest between his shoulder blades, and Tommy had a sudden, strong … impression, of a big, warm hand settled on his back. He couldn't remember the last time his father touched him like that. Not since his mother died, and the words spilled out of him. His unexpected encounter with his father's lead secretary … the revelations that he was in Chicago, Chicago of all places … his father's declaration that he would return in time for the anniversary of his mom's birth to lay flowers on her grave, something he'd never done before. And finally, his father returning his phone call.

Laurel murmured, "I'd never realized before today … you still love him. You hate him for not being there after your mom died, and for being so distant since then, but you do still love him." Tommy started to protest, starting to remind his girlfriend of all the small things over the last twenty years that added up to a great big ball of hurt, but Laurel went on, "You do. You still love him. Tommy … you still call him 'dad.' Even though he hasn't behaved like one in a long time, you still call him 'dad.' And _you_ called _him_. You were worried about him."

That was the worst part of it. Laurel was right. When his dad's secretary told him in the coffee shop that his father was in Chicago … Chicago, which was the location of a mega-throwdown between two factions of giant alien robots … Tommy's heart stopped. He thought he had nothing left to lose, with the distance already between himself and his father. His best friend was lost at sea and presumed dead. His mother was murdered by a lowlife scum when he was still a child. All he had was Laurel, really.

Until those fateful words were spoken. '_Oh. Mr. Merlyn is in Chicago on business_.' And Tommy Merlyn realized that oh yes, there was still something to be lost. He could still lose his father, not to distance but to death. He still had his father, however distant they both were over the last several years. That was why he called his dad's cell while Laurel slept beside him. Because he needed to know that his dad really was all right … needed to hear his dad's voice. Tommy hated that. He hated that there was still a part of him that felt reassured … that needed to hear his daddy's voice to make him feel safe. He hated it because it had been so long since he felt truly safe. But wishing it away didn't make it so.

Laurel was right. He did still love his father, despite all of the disappointments, big and small, over the years. Tommy was barely eight years old when his mother died. In truth, he'd lost both parents at the same time. His mother was murdered and his father was left a hollow shell. Laurel's arms snaked around his waist, and her chin came to rest on his shoulder as she whispered, "Tommy, it's okay. It's okay to still love him. I've never stopped loving Sara, after all." Sara, who died with Oliver on the Queen's Gambit … Sara, who was sleeping with him, even as he was sleeping with Laurel. Tommy didn't tell her that it wasn't the same thing, because she knew that all ready.

"I don't … what do I do, Laurel? The man I just talked to, he isn't the same Malcolm Merlyn I've known for the last twenty years. Something's happened, something's broken through those walls he's used to protect himself, and I don't know what it is," Tommy answered hoarsely. It wasn't just that, though. Yes, his father built high walls around his heart to protect himself after they lost their wife and mother, but he used those walls to keep Tommy out as well. And now, something made a crack in that wall … something that wasn't Tommy, and yeah, he was jealous. Of course he was jealous!

"Right now? You don't do anything. You come back to bed, and you let me hold you. You work out what you're going to do when your father comes back to Starling. But that idea of you and he going to your mother's grave on her birthday? I think that's a really good first step," Laurel answered. Tommy considered her words, before nodding slowly. He turned in her arms, burying his face against her neck as she held him tightly. It took him forever to fall asleep, even with Laurel's hands moving soothingly over his neck and back and hair. The same question was repeating itself in Tommy's mind, over and over again …

What happened to his father in Chicago? What had happened, what was happening? And, most importantly of all … was it too late for the two of them to be a family again?

TBC


	3. Chapter 3: Too Late to Turn Back Now

Author's Notes: While I was working on this chapter, I learned that Jimi Jamison, the lead singer of Survivor, died of a heart attack at the age of sixty-three. As a fifteen year old girl in the mid-eighties, I had a rather fierce crush on him. Kind of laughable now that I look back and realize that I was more or less young enough to be his daughter (well, niece at least, since he was a year younger than my youngest uncle), but at the time … all that mattered to me was that he had a voice that stopped my teenaged heart and that he was incredibly cute. I mention this because Jimi's years as the lead singer of Survivor were so instrumental in the creation of this AU, particularly the relationship between Malcolm and Angie. And not just their growing relationship in this story … I listen to '_I See You in Everyone_' sometime to hear Malcolm's grief in the early days after Rebecca's death. May you rest in peace, Jimi … you will not be forgotten. In this chapter, Malcolm gives Angie a priceless gift; Tommy frets over his father; while Angie tries to ignore Josie. Easy to say … not so easy to do.

Chapter Three

Too Late to Turn Back Now

He wasn't nearly as surprised as he should have been when Colonel Lennox assigned Angie Curtis to be his liaison. It would seem that his scrutiny of her during their original meeting didn't go unnoticed. And really, Malcolm didn't mind. For one thing, he could keep an eye on her and make sure she made no more foolish trips for supplies. For another, she proved to be quite competent, especially at soothing egos. Malcolm would watch with a mixture of bemusement and amusement as Angie settled disputes between a pair of feuding egos, before turning their collective attention to whatever she and Malcolm needed. He was even more impressed as they walked away together and Angie confided things about the pair … for instance, one was trying to hold onto his sanity after losing his wife in the attacks, while the other was the only survivor out of an entire office. Everyone in the Pedway Shelter had a story and it sometimes seemed like Angie knew them all. When he mentioned that to her, she just shook her head with a small, rueful smile.

There was also the matter of the little things … or, as the case may be, not so little things. One thought about food and drinking water and shelter in disaster situations … hygiene, not so much. The people living in the Pedway made do, taking sponge baths if necessary and grabbing showers where they could. She mentioned seeing portable showers for campers, and Malcolm made a mental note to look into that. Angie often observed that she was grateful to the soldiers for what they were able to do with the resources they had, but she couldn't quite disguise the wistful note in her voice when she spoke about her ruined apartment.

That brought Malcolm to his next mental note … he spoke with the manager of his hotel, seeking to make an arrangement on behalf of the refugees. It was a mutually beneficial plan … the hotel would get money from Malcolm and free publicity from the refugees. And what did Malcolm get? Well, that went without saying. They would remember. Oh, he wouldn't tell them, but people eventually ferreted that kind of information out. Human nature would take care of the rest. Besides. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, Malcolm was growing to treasure Angie's smiles, just as he once treasured Rebecca's. And her smile when he told her about their 'field trip' to his hotel so she could get a real shower was nothing short of radiant.

Not that he was falling in love with her. No. Malcolm determined after his conversation with his son a few days earlier that whatever love he had left to give should only be given to Tommy. He was realizing on a daily basis just how badly he failed his son. If Tommy gave him a second chance … no. Even if he didn't, Malcolm would still find ways to be there for him. Not in terms of money, but … he had to work that out. Tommy was all he had of Rebecca, and he couldn't allow himself to forget that again. Even so, his heart did a little jump when, after an extremely long day at the Pedway, he escorted Angie to his hotel room so she could take a real shower … and not only did she emit a tiny squeal of joy when she saw the bathroom ('My God, I think my old apartment would fit in here!'), but she threw her arms around him for a quick, fierce hug. He hugged her back awkwardly, smiling quietly as she spent the next ten minutes exploring the bathroom. But, she earned this, with all the work she'd done since the attack. This, Malcolm believed firmly, was not a woman who would have let Rebecca bleed to death.

Not that Malcolm told her the story … he wasn't ready to do that. No, he simply asked her what she would have done in that situation. Angie, to her credit, thought about it for several moments before answering slowly that she hoped she would try to help the injured person … but she was afraid that she would freeze up. Malcolm pressed on, asking if she would have simply walked past. Angie blurted out, '_God, no! I don't think I could live with myself if I did that_!' She blushed, adding, '_sorry, I know that's not what you wanted to hear … making it about me_.' But she was wrong … that was exactly what Malcolm wanted to hear. No … no, his odd new friend wouldn't have allowed Rebecca to simply bleed out. She might not have been able to prevent her death, but she wouldn't have left Rebecca to die.

His somewhat morbid musings came to a screeching halt when a very wet Angie emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her hair and attired in a big, fluffy bathrobe that was a size or two too big for her. But she was beaming as she said, "Thank you so much … I would tell you how much I needed that, but that would be seriously TMI." Malcolm tried not to smile, but Angie's irreverent, "Oh, it's okay. I won't get mad at you if you laugh at me. I happen to know that I didn't smell very nice earlier," not only made him smile, but forced a surprised laugh out of him. She beamed and rocked up onto her toes, brushing a light kiss to his cheek.

Malcolm honestly wasn't sure who was more surprised … himself or Angie. But the young woman in question blushed, smiled at him again, and then bounced … yes, bounced … back into the bathroom to get dressed again. Malcolm raised his hand to his cheek, to the spot where she kissed him. Who was the last person who did that? Was it Rebecca, the night before she died, when she crawled into bed beside him after tucking Tommy back into bed … was it Tommy, earlier that night when Malcolm tucked him into bed the first time? A simple kiss on the cheek shouldn't have the potential to rock your world … but as the door closed behind Angeline Curtis, Malcolm's determination to solely focus on Tommy was being rattled. And yet, at the same time, he felt a sudden need to talk to his son again.

MMMMMMMMM

The phone call from his father took Tommy Merlyn off-guard, to say the least. They were never very good at communicating, not after Tommy's mother died. To the devastated little boy, his world ended with his mother's death and his father's sudden departure for parts unknown. And when he came back … different … well. They were both different when his father came back. And now? Now, his father called him twice in the last few days. Well, yes, the first time was in response to Tommy's own phone call, but he was pretty sure that he and his dad had talked more in the last few days than they had in the previous twenty years.

The conversation was stilted. Dad told him about the Pedway, and the conditions there … about the deal he was making with the hotel, to allow the refugees in the Pedway to access the bathrooms in unused rooms. He spoke haltingly, as if he didn't know how Tommy would react. And Tommy? Well, he had to admit that he was of two minds. On the one hand, he didn't have to ask what his father was getting out of this particular deal … but on the other? On the other, how could he be angry that his father was working out something to make these people more comfortable? For the first time since his father came home changed, all those years ago, Tommy wondered exactly what his father saw when he looked at him, without any bitterness or resentment, with only curiosity. Maybe a little hurt?

Maybe. Instead, he told his father that his plan was a good one, that using a real shower instead of a makeshift one would probably go far in making the survivors feel human again. He laughed in spite of himself when his dad told him about Angie Curtis and her reaction to getting to shower. And was he imaging some … well, interest when his father spoke of this mysterious Angie Curtis? It was strange enough for his father to even talk about a woman, much less with that intriguing blend of amusement, curiosity, and maybe even a touch of affection? But Tommy didn't think he was aware of it, yet. His father actually seemed to be attracted to this woman, and Malcolm Merlyn barely looked at any woman since his wife's death. Which made Tommy wonder … just what was this Angeline Curtis like?

His first instinct was to check her out himself, but Tommy knew as he concluded his conversation with his father that he would need help with this venture. Fortunately, he knew a very good lawyer with police connections. Detective Lance didn't have much use for him, or his father, but he knew that the detective was chomping at the bit to do something to help the people of Chicago in the wake of the devastating attack against the Second City. And much to his astonishment, when he rambled out his curiosity about this woman to Laurel, she had the perfect plan. She would go to her father with a story that was mostly true … she heard about people who were helping NEST look after other refugees, and she hoped he could help her find out more. Of course, they would need more names, Laurel cautioned him, but even the names of NEST members would help.

Fortunately, Dad mentioned some of those names … Josephine Tucker, who was apparently this Angie girl's best friend, and Will Lennox, the colonel in charge of NEST. Tommy supposed he could have found another way to run an unofficial background check, but this way, there would be fewer questions. And the fewer questions there were, the better for everyone, not just Tommy. And Laurel … Laurel was fantastic. She quietly admitted that she sometimes ran her own background checks on people her respective parents were dating … not that her father dated that much, not after her mother left and Sara …

She put her hand to her throat, as if the words died there, and she looked away. Tommy could relate, because in some ways, her feelings toward Sara mirrored the way he felt about his father more and more: that odd blend of resentment and love and guilt. The difference was, of course, that Sara was dead, while his dad was still alive. But if he died in Chicago … there was so much undone and unsaid between them. Tommy closed his eyes, remembering the devastation in the Second City … so much destruction. From what he heard on the tv, it seemed likely that they would be finding dead bodies for the next several years.

He should have been relieved when Detective Lance found nothing alarming about Angeline Curtis … she was a thirty-seven year old office worker, never married, no children. Born and raised in Texas, took a job in Chicago a few years back for unknown reasons. Parents were still alive (and even more shocking in this day and age, still married), one older sister who was currently going through a nasty divorce and even more nasty custody battle. She had a few minor traffic tickets, and was evidently involved in an ugly confrontation with her former brother-in-law, but that was about it. Laurel, as she told him about said confrontation, was valiantly trying not to laugh when she explained exactly what Angie had done to her erstwhile brother-in-law after he did something to hurt one of the kids. It took Tommy nearly an hour before the urge to cover himself protectively faded.

Yes, he should have been relieved … but he wasn't. If anything, he was more worried about his father, and he wasn't sure why. This was Malcolm Merlyn, after all, and he could take care of himself, right? When he admitted to Laurel that he wasn't feeling reassured, even given what she learned, Laurel suggested something that was truly unthinkable for the young man … flying to Chicago to meet the woman for himself. He wasn't checking up on his father … it wasn't like that. And Dad already said that he wasn't interested in this Angie, not like that. On the other hand, he'd never known his father to take the steps he did to ensure someone's comfort, the way he did with Angie Curtis. Inviting her to the hotel so she could take a real shower? And it wasn't just him … Laurel's eyebrows winged into her hairline when she heard that as well.

For now, he would stay put and listen to his father's memories of his mother during their phone conversations. That was something else, during this most recent call. His father began talking about his mother … about how they first met, things that Tommy never heard before. He sat on the bed, fingers curling around his phone as his dad shared those precious memories with him. When his mother was alive, Tommy was a little boy and not particularly interested in those stories … and when he was old enough to appreciate them, his father wasn't inclined to speak of his dead wife. His dead wife. Tommy suddenly found it hard to breathe, as he came to realize just what his father lost, all those years ago. They both lost Rebecca Merlyn, wife and mother, and they lost each other. But … could they start finding their way back to each other? Was Tommy brave enough to let himself love his father again?

MMMMMMMMMMM

"Omigod, girl, he's totally got the hots for you!"

Those were the first words out of Josie's mouth when Angie returned to the Pedway, freshly washed and in clean clothes. And oh God, it felt _so_ good to be clean again! She had no idea why Malcolm would do such a thing, but she was almost as grateful to him as she was to the soldiers who kept things together in the Pedway. Of course, as soon as Josie saw her … well. Her opening gambit pretty much said it all as far as Angie was concerned. Her friend had a one-track mind, and she openly admitted that if she couldn't marry a rich man, she was gonna make damn sure that one of her friends would. Heaven help Angie.

Lord knew, she found Malcolm hopelessly attractive. How could she not? The phrase 'achingly beautiful' seemed to have been coined just for him. And he was charming … very, very charming. But more than that, there was a vulnerability to him that she was sure that other people had to have noticed … a sadness in his eyes when he spoke of his late wife Rebecca. And Angie realized, as soon as he described that 'theoretical situation,' in which a young woman was shot and bled out as people walked around her … she knew that was how his wife died. It wasn't so very hard to figure out, and really, Angie couldn't figure out how he was still sane.

She thought about what she would have done, if someone did that to either of her parents, or to her older sister … and her own rage nearly overwhelmed her. She'd never been married and thought at this point, it was growing more and more unlikely that she would ever get married, but she would have killed anyone who did that to her family. She would have killed them, Angie knew, even if it was just using a rock from the rubble that surrounded her. She would have killed the bastard who committed the actual deed, and she would have killed those who refused to help. It was a realization that terrified her, though not as much as it would have a few years earlier. It was never an easy thing, realizing just how much darkness you had inside of you.

And in truth, she wasn't entirely sure how to classify her 'relationship' with Malcolm Merlyn, if indeed it could be classified as anything other than a working relationship. Which was why, when Josie all but squealed that Malcolm had the hots for her (in what universe?), Angie could only roll her eyes, because really? Josie got 'the hots' out of their work-related conversations? There was a part of her which would like to know where Josie got that idea, but she never asked because she was quite sure that Josie would be more than happy to tell her!

Angie said at last, entirely too aware of the way Josie was bouncing around her, looking for the story, "He does not. He was just being kind." It sounded weak even to Angie's ears, even before Josie snorted in derision. Even so, Angie told her friend, "He doesn't have the hots for me … we just met, we're business associates, and besides, I think he's still in love with his late wife." As soon as the words were out, Angie was regretting them … even before Josie's eyes narrowed. Even before her friend pounced.

"He was married … and she died? Well, that sure explains a lot! How long has his wife been dead?" she asked and Angie rolled her eyes. Of course, that did exactly nothing to dissuade Josie, who persisted, "C'mon, you cannot drop a bombshell like that, and then expect me to just let it go. Details, girl, spill!" Angie put down the food supplies she'd been putting away when Josie entered the storeroom and folded her arms over her chest. Josie took a half-step back, a small concession to annoying Angie.

"It isn't my story to tell. He talked about her in passing, nothing official, and even if he did …" Angie finally replied. Even if he did, Angie wasn't inclined to share such personal things with Josie. If Malcolm wanted people to know about his past, especially painful things, he would tell them himself. It wasn't her business, it wasn't anyone else's business, and she wasn't about to let Josie wheedle any more information about NEST's (very) handsome business associate. He may not have spoken of his wife in confidence, but it still felt like a betrayal, to say anything more about it, much less things she gathered in conjecture.

And Josie was staring at her in surprise, murmuring, "You really do like him? I mean, not that I can blame you … the man is gorgeous, after all … but you truly like him. Him, not just his looks and his money, but him, the man." Angie turned away resolutely, returning her attention back to putting the food away. That was something else Malcolm did … made sure no more of the supply runs were necessary. Not that Angie would have gone out on any more without an escort, after her disastrous run … the one where she met/was saved by the mysterious archer in black. Since he began his partnership with NEST, Malcolm made sure they got food. And while he couldn't always provide fresh fruit or vegetables (especially ones that were out of season), he did see to it that they got enough food to stay healthy.

But while she turned away, Josie didn't let it go. She didn't know how to let it go, it wasn't in her to let go of anything for anything. Her friend persisted, "You really like him … as in, you want to mess up his hair and make him smile. Not just wrap your legs around him and screw him into the wall or the mattress, but you genuinely like him." Now, Angie did glower at her, because this was getting into very uncomfortable territory … all the more because Josie had it exactly right, but Angie didn't allow herself to think about that, because it didn't make a difference, it wouldn't go anywhere. But, again, Josie wouldn't let it go, asking, "What do you see, that I don't? Like I said, he's gorgeous, but … what are you seeing?"

Angie closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wood of the cabinet. What did she say, to make this make sense to Josie, when it barely made sense to her? It would be so easy to resent Malcolm for having what she didn't, but … but that didn't make sense to her, not as an adult. And it wasn't what Josie was asking. What did she see when she looked at him, what could she see that Josie might not? That was a tough question, because Angie only knew what she saw when she looked at him, and maybe that was the best place to start. She said softly, not turning toward her friend, "Loneliness. I see someone who is terribly lonely, and probably doesn't even realize it." At that, she lifted her head and turned to face Josie.

"He's lonely and he's sad, and he doesn't even realize it. He puts on this façade, but …" Angie explained, and then shook her head, because in her head or out of her mouth, it still didn't make any sense to her. There were many people in the world who were lonely and sad, especially in the wake of the Chicago attacks, but why was Malcolm Merlyn having this effect on her? She swallowed hard and looked back at Josie, saying softly, "Sometimes, when it's just us walking through the tunnels, he starts talking about his hometown, about Starling City … I hear the love, and the desire to make it better. Other times, he talks about Chicago, and a friend of his who might be able to rebuild it … Joshua Joyce, he's an inventor."

It still made no sense to her, hearing it out loud, and so Angie pushed forward, trying to make sense of her feelings, "I hear the grief and the pain in his voice, when he talks about Starling City and about Chicago, and I want to make it better … I want to ease his hurt. And sometimes, when I'm talking to Jared or Damon, I'll see him smiling at me, and … I don't know. He almost seems proud of me, and I'm not quite sure why, but I like the feeling I have when he smiles at me like that. It isn't a brilliant smile … it's small and quiet, and …"

She stopped speaking, because to her own ears, the more she talked, the less sense she made. Angie shook her head, murmuring, "I don't know enough about him. I don't know what makes him truly happy … or what makes him laugh … or what kinds of movies he likes, what kinds of music. I don't know nearly enough about him." She looked back at Josie, whose expression changed from curious and borderline manic to compassionate. The other woman took a step forward and held Angie's forearms.

"You do know enough … you hear his grief and pain and loneliness. Maybe that's not enough of a foundation for a marriage, but it's enough for a friendship. And if he's still carrying a torch for his late wife, maybe that's exactly what he needs. A no-strings attached friendship. One that I happen to know that you're very good at providing. A no-strings, no-stress friendship for a woman rebuilding her life and a super-duper-wealthy dude who is probably used to people wanting to use him for his money," Josie answered softly. Angie thought about her friend's words for several moments.

Friendship? Yes … yes, she could be Malcolm Merlyn's friend. Money was nice, but despite Josie's words, she was never sure if she could be a rich man's wife. It seemed like an incredible amount of stress. Back when the office was still up and running, Evangeline sometimes read from the society pages, and Angie wondered why anyone would want to live like that … under a microscope all the time, and no matter what you did, it was wrong. At least when she made a mistake, not everyone knew about it. Friendship, though … friendship she could do.

She offered Josie a small smile and nodded, and her friend squeezed her arms again, kissing her forehead in a way she hadn't done since the attack on the city, when Josie found her again in the medical tent. Of course, Josie was still her incorrigible self, and she added, "And you never know where friendship will lead. You know what they say about love … that it's a friendship caught fire." Angie rolled her eyes. She should have seen that one coming from a mile away. Josie would never change, and really? She probably didn't want her to, either. Most of the time, at least. Of course, what Angie hadn't realized yet was that it was too late for her or for Malcolm to turn back.

TBC


End file.
